


À la recherche de la honte perdue

by Petra



Category: DCU - Comicsverse
Genre: 18th Century, Crossdressing, M/M, Pommel Horse, roleplaying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-17
Updated: 2005-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-11 18:27:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/115565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petra/pseuds/Petra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some people attend costume parties dressed as Batman and Robin. Batman and Robin have to branch out a little farther to find their niche.</p>
            </blockquote>





	À la recherche de la honte perdue

**Author's Note:**

> I blame this on [](http://kinnosuikazura.livejournal.com/profile)[**fannore**](http://kinnosuikazura.livejournal.com/) for reawakening my period clothing Thing, and even more so on [](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/profile)[**rubynye**](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/) for encouraging me when I would have written Thrillkiller Babs/Dick instead. Thanks to [](http://cyanei.livejournal.com/profile)[**cyanei**](http://cyanei.livejournal.com/) for reassuring me that I still understood French grammar enough to butcher the title. Also, I said to [](http://thete1.livejournal.com/profile)[**thete1**](http://thete1.livejournal.com/) that I wanted to see if I could write Bob Kane-esque Bruce/Dick. Oops.

  
"Maybe I should make you train in petticoats all the time," Bruce says, and twitches Dick's skirt back onto his side of the Batmobile.

"Very funny," Dick says, and sticks his tongue out at Bruce, who's still Louis XVI. "I don't know why you didn't let me change."

"It's good practice, chum."

"For what? The corset thing --"

"Technically, they're stays, in that period --"

"Well, the stays are digging into my ribs, and the fake breasts are really annoying. Really, really annoying. Next time you have to be the girl."

Bruce chuckles and pats his knee, which is maybe not as weird as it would be if his knees were bare. There are all those petticoats in the way now.

"I don't have the build for it, I'm afraid."

Dick sighs. "I can't wait 'til I'm as tall as you are."

Bruce tousles his hair. "Someday."

"And then nobody will ever stuff things into my -- my gosh darn décolletage. Plus maybe I won't have to put up with people who say things like, 'But Master Dick, underwear isn't period.' Oh thank goodness we're home."

"Wait," Bruce says, when he goes to get out of the car.

"Why?"

It only takes that moment's hesitation for Bruce to come around to Dick's side of the car and bow him out the door out of the car. "After you, milady."

Dick blinks at him. "Um, Bruce?"

"Let me give you a hand," Bruce says, like Dick didn't manage to kick six kinds of butt, skirts or no skirts.

Bruce -- Bruce is picking him up, and that's very weird with all the fluttery skirt edges. Kind of romantic.

Except after Alfred's lecture about French Revolution stuff and what it did and didn't mean, it's not even fair, but Dick can't call this Romantic.

Even when Bruce kisses him.

The braid on his jacket feels scratchy when Dick clings to his shoulders, but that's okay. At least he knows it's not slippery like the Batman cape, and Bruce isn't going to drop him. Batman wouldn't drop anybody, but especially not Dick.

This is definitely a French kiss, besides. By the time Bruce comes up for air, Dick's glad that he's not trying to balance, because his knees are trembling. "Is it the stays?" he asks.

"Robin," Bruce says, and he's doing that thing where he chuckles deep in his chest. "The stays are, shall I say, icing."

Dick wriggles and Bruce sets him down on the vaulting horse. "You like me with breasts?"

Bruce touches the falsies lightly. "It's an intriguing change, but not the most captivating one."

"Well, that's okay, then." Dick reaches for him and Bruce kisses him again. "I don't think the bad guys would be as afraid of Robin if I had breasts."

"They would lose their shock value, with time," Bruce agrees, and he puts his arms around Dick's waist. "Are the stays really so uncomfortable?"

"Kind of, yeah, but I can handle it." Dick grins at him. "It's nowhere near as bad as being tied up."

"Good," Bruce says against his ear. "Turn over for me?"

Dick shivers. "What, here?" Bruce gives him just barely enough space to slide off the horse and turn around before he pushes Dick's skirts and petticoats up in a big fluff of incredibly stupid lacy fabric. "Are you sure?"

Bruce pinches his butt gently. "If you don't mind terribly."

"These skirts are gonna be a mess," Dick says, "but I guess you can spring for the dry-cleaning bill, huh."

"Certainly," Bruce says. He nudges Dick's legs apart -- not that he minds, just that he has to find a different balance -- and swats him just hard enough to sting a little. "Every now and then, I can afford an indulgence."

"As long as it doesn't come out of my allowance," Dick says, wriggling a little to get his knees spread properly.

"No need for that," Bruce says. He wasn't wearing the whole utility belt before, but he must have had some basic supplies -- though where he kept them -- Dick stops trying to think about logistics and just enjoys the way his fingers feel.

When he's thinking about sensations, he can feel the whole froth of petticoat even more vividly. "This is so weird. I feel like -- oh, god, right like that -- like I should use the girly-voice again."

Bruce nibbles his ear. "If you want to."

"Not really -- oh!" and the last comes out in an octave he wasn't expecting, because however many times Bruce pushes into him, it always feels amazing. "Oh, Bruce." Bruce mouths his neck -- a plus side to the stupid costume, anyway -- and strokes him. And spanks him. "Ow," Dick says, or tries to say. It comes out more like "Oo."

Which, okay, so Bruce does it again, and he's not exactly protesting loudly enough. "Dick," Bruce says, "you're so beautiful."

Dick doesn't have enough breath to laugh much. "God, Bruce -- oh, god, Bruce -- it's the skirt. The darn petticoats."

Bruce strokes him harder, and Dick's not going to lose his balance, he's not, but he's holding onto the vaulting horse and bracing for every push. "It's you," Bruce says. "It's always you."

It makes Dick want to laugh again, but he's shivering too hard, too close to the edge. "Should -- should I say _je t'aime_? Oh please, yes --"

Bruce is laughing, breathlessly, in between the little sighs -- not at Dick, not because he's coming all over the fluffy stupid skirts and panting for breath, because Bruce says, " _Et je t'aime aussi, mon Rouge-gorge,_ " and that groan is the sound he makes when it's perfect, when everything's just right and just in place and there's nothing in the world that matters but the two of them.

"That --" Dick sighs happily and then winces at the stupid stays that he's noticing, again, now that the universe is coming back into focus. "I really need to get out of this dress."

Bruce kisses his neck again and pulls away enough that Dick can stand up and turn around, then hugs him tightly. "You did beautifully in it."

Dick snickers. "Does this mean I have to wear it again?"

"I can't imagine when it would be appropriate, but perhaps."

"Aw, man. Well -- okay. I'll get the stuff in the laundry, then."

Bruce kisses him. "It always pays to be prepared."


End file.
